


Rest for the Wicked

by pomegrenadier



Series: Structural Integrity [26]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Disgustingly fluffy, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/pseuds/pomegrenadier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bed is centered against one wall. There's a nightstand on either side, each with a chrono and a warm lamp. The pillows are big and puffy and a little squished. The quilt is well-worn, faded to softness. Vette feels sleepy just looking at it.</p><p>Then she remembers: two people. One bed. Crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> It is I, the fearsome friendshipper! Back with more disgustingly fluffy trope aversion fic!

**o.O.o**

The bed is centered against one wall. There's a nightstand on either side, each with a chrono and a warm lamp. The pillows are big and puffy and a little squished. The quilt is well-worn, faded to softness. Vette feels sleepy just looking at it.  
  
Then she remembers: two people. One bed. Crap.  
  
"Um," Vette says. "Sooo . . ."  
  
Evren is gazing longingly at the bed. "I can take the floor."  
  
Vette pulls herself together. She's going to be _sensible_ about this, damn it. "Nuh-uh, I'm not making you sleep on the floor after the day we just had. We could . . . you know. Share? If you're okay with it, I mean." She hesitates—the bed looks so _nice_ —then says, "And if you'd feel better with the bed all to yourself, that'd be fine too."  
  
"No, that's—that's not necessary, I just—you can have it, I don't want to make this difficult or, or awkward—"  
  
Yikes. Vette focuses on the pillows. Imagines what it'd be like to hug one. The smell of detergent on the case, the soft springiness of the filling. Starting out cool and then warming up with body heat and breath.  
  
For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then Evren twitches. Stares at her. "Are you projecting _pillows_?" he says, incredulous.  
  
"Yup," Vette says. "So apparently those Sithy mind powers are good for something besides smelling fear . . . Ev, it's okay. I'm not gonna get mad at you for being nervous, or having issues with being touched—I promise. We'll try this, and if it doesn't work out, we'll try something else. You want the window side or the door side?" She kicks off her boots and drops her pack onto the desk chair, starts hunting for her toothbrush.  
  
Evren takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. "Thank you, Vette," he says softly. Then: "Window, if that's all right with you."  
  
"Sure thing. I call first shower."

**o.O.o**

When she emerges from the 'fresher in a cloud of steam, Evren is perched on the chair in his undersuit, armor stacked neatly near the door. His prosthetic leg is detached, the other curled beneath him; he's making adjustments to the prosthetic's innards, tiny toolkit laid out on the armrest at his elbow. Then he glances up and smiles a little. "You made it!" he says, like she's just gotten back from a dangerous mission.  
  
Well, she did shriek a few times at the beginning. Valid assumption. Vette strikes a heroic pose. "Hotel showers are no match for me," she declares. Then she heaves a sigh. "Seriously, though. The temperature control labels are backwards. Do _not_ step into that thing without checking the water first. Thought it was gonna be nice and toasty, got fuckin' Hoth dumped on my head until I figured it out."  
  
Evren hisses in sympathy. "Hence the, ah, horrified screeching."  
  
"Yep." Vette flops onto the foot of the bed, testing the mattress—it's a little bouncier than she's used to, but she's been sleeping on an Imperial military ship for the past year or so, and _Imperial military_ and _bouncy_ just . . . do not go together, at all. "So that was exciting. I miss anything out here?"  
  
"I forgot the toolkit on my belt," Evren says sheepishly. "After I'd gone through the tiresome process of taking off the leg. Kit was all the way across the room. I had to hop."  
  
"Aw. I won't tell. Promise."

And for a while, everything is normal between them—they chat while Evren finishes fixing his leg, he reattaches it and goes to shower, Vette boots up her datapad to check her messages and fires off a few of her own for Tivva and Taunt. And then Evren comes out again, hair still damp and curling at the ends, dripping a little onto the shoulders of his pajamas. He hovers near the 'fresher door.  
  
"Hey," Vette says lightly, uncrossing her legs and setting them on the floor, back straightening. "You got anything you want to do before lights out, or . . .?"  
  
He shakes his head. "Nothing that can't wait until morning."  
  
"Okay. Let's get some shuteye, then. Feel free to poke me if I snore. I don't think I snore, Jaesa's never complained, but that could just be Jaesa being, well, Jaesa, so . . ."  
  
"Likewise," Evren says, and after another moment of painful hesitation he finally moves. Well. _Stalks_ , basically, across the room and around to the far side of the bed like he's advancing on an enemy.  
  
Vette shuts off her datapad and sets it on the nightstand. She peels the quilt and blankets back far enough to stick her lower half under them and lie on her side, facing away from Evren. She can feel the mattress bounce—yeah, definitely not Imperial military issue—and the blankets tug a little, but other than that, nothing.  
  
She props herself up on her elbows, twists around to check on him. He's lying flat on his back, practically falling off the edge of his side of the bed. _Oh, Ev._ "You're allowed to take up space," Vette says, in the same tone she uses to tease him about being a fake food snob. "Just, y'know, don't kick me with your metal leg or whatever."  
  
He snorts, raising a hand to cover his eyes. An ugly chill runs through her. She's so used to his facial tattoos that she barely notices them anymore, but the ones on his hands . . . And now that she knows what they mean, what happened, it's—yeah.

He's looking at her through his fingers. He knows what she was staring at. Vette winces. "Wow, sorry, that was—sorry."  
  
"No, it's—it's fine, it's not—" Evren breaks off and exhales. He pulls his hand under the covers again, seems to catch himself doing it, grimaces but doesn't reverse the motion. "I should be the one apologizing. For—for making this difficult."  
  
"It's not like you don't have a whole bunch of really good reasons," Vette says. "And even if you didn't . . . it's weird, you know? Probably doesn't have to be, but it is, and here we are."  
  
". . . Is there some sort of etiquette for bed sharing? Guidelines, customs, anything?"  
  
"Not that I've seen. It'd be nice, though. Like—here's how you turn over without smacking anyone in the nose, here's how you get blankets back on your side if your bed buddy steals them all. That kind of thing."  
  
He laughs under his breath. "Quite."  
  
"But, uh, I'll try not to get too close if you're not comfortable with it."

There's a pause, and then he says, "Should I be worried about your lekku?"  
  
"Nah, they're tough. Worst that could happen is someone rolls over 'em and I wake up with pins and needles."  
  
"Let's avoid that, then."  
  
"Mm-hmm." Vette reaches over and turns off her lamp; Evren's clicks off a moment later, and they both resettle in the dark. Vette hopes he's not still trying to sleep at parade rest. That did not look comfortable.  
  
She squiggles a crooked arm under her pillow, rests her head on top. Her eyes adjust to the darkness enough to make out Evren's silhouette—he's on his side, too, facing her. Mirroring her, unintentionally.  
  
Vette lets her eyes drift shut. They'll be okay. He's her best friend, and she can't help but worry, but—they'll be okay.

**o.O.o**

In the morning she drifts back to consciousness and smiles.  
  
Their hands are touching, just barely.

**o.O.o**

_end_


End file.
